My Enemy, My Lover
by ToryTigress92
Summary: It is 1533 and Jane Seymour is Queen of England after the death of Catherine of Aragon. But trouble comes to the Seymour family in the form of the seductive and exotic Lady Anne Boleyn, sent by her father to seduce the King. However, no greater sparks fly than between Anne and Edward Seymour, as they battle it out for the King's favour, and the destiny of the nation.


My Enemy, My Lover

Warnings: Explicit content, violence and some swearing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**A/N: Just an introductory chapter, of an AU timeline in which Catherine of Aragon dies prematurely, and Jane Seymour is Henry's Queen, not Anne. It will be updated when I have more time on my hands.**

* * *

The sun shed its warm rays over the ancient grey stones of the palace of Whitehall on the day the new Queen was crowned.

Catherine of Aragon, the beloved Queen and wife of Henry VIII, had passed away just six months before, leaving behind only a daughter, the Princess Mary. After mourning his beloved Queen, Henry had given in to the subtle demands by his advisers to marry again.

Henry had inspected German princesses, French ladies and Spanish contessas, but none had drawn his fancy as a future Queen. It had not been until he had gone hunting and stopped at Wulf Hall to rest that he met the gentle Jane Seymour. Within weeks he had proposed and now they had married.

Now she was Queen Jane.

Edward Seymour, eldest son of the Seymour family, stood and smiled as he watched his sister take her place beside Henry in the throne room, her long golden hair glistening in the warm summer light, only just outmatched by the jewels glimmering at her neck, ears and fingers.

Jane had done well for the family. While his irksome brother was busy abroad, he had been created Viscount Beauchamp, among other titles, and was only rising in the King's favour. All Jane needed to do was conceive a son, an heir, and their position would be assured.

All was well.

Jane's smile was utterly joyful as she sat beside her husband, receiving foreign Ambassadors congratulating them on their marriage. Henry's strong, warm hand over hers made her turn to him, the jewels adorning her neck glittering in the sunlight.

"Are you happy, my love?" Henry asked, smiling graciously at his new Queen. He had been fond of Catherine, but she had disappointed him with her failure to bear a strong male heir. He could only pray to God that Jane would prove stronger.

"Nothing could make me happier, Your Majesty," she breathed, glancing down modestly. "I meant to mention to Your Majesty that I have invited an old friend to Court, if that does not displease Your Majesty?"

"Of course not, darling," Henry leant back in his throne, still holding on to Jane's hand. "Who is she?"

"The Lady Anne Boleyn."

* * *

Sir Thomas Boleyn was waiting to meet Anne as she dismounted her horse, her draped burgundy cloak flaring around her as she walked towards her father. She had not seen him since the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and he already looked older to her. His hair was silvered even more, his face lined with more wrinkles, but not even the gold chain around his neck could outshine the light in his eyes, the eyes of a much younger man.

"Father," she smiled, raising her face to be kissed on each cheek, pressing his hands in hers. "It is good to see you again."

"The voyage from France was not too arduous, I hope, Anne?" Sir Thomas asked cordially, twining Anne's hand around his arm as they began to walk back into Hever Castle.

"No, Father. Your summons, and Jane's, were a surprise, however," Anne replied, turning piercing eyes to his. Sir Thomas only smiled, before handing his daughter over the threshold of their home.

"Yes, I was pleased to hear of your continued correspondence with the new Queen," he murmured. "It will make the reason for your return much easier to accomplish."

Her eyes widening, Anne turned to her father abruptly but he led her on, into the entrance hall, its stone ceilings soaring high above them, its walls covered by elaborate tapestries, woven with skill. Anne's eyes wandered over them, wondering exactly what thread her father was trying to weave with her.

That night, when Anne and Sir Thomas sat down to dinner, she turned to her father and pointedly asked, "Now cut line, Father. Why have you summoned me back to England? What has Jane to do with it?"

Many years before, the Boleyns and the Seymours' children had played together, their sons sent to school and university together, and their daughters tutored before Anne and Mary went sent to the French court, and Jane and Elizabeth were sent to the English court to serve Queen Catherine.

Now Jane sat upon the throne, and Anne felt an odd mixture of envy, delight for her old friend's rise and another more nebulous emotion she could not understand.

Sir Thomas studied his thoughtful daughter, her olive skin glowing in the firelight, her dark waves of hair falling in unrestrained curls over her shoulders.

"Jane has nothing to do with what I have planned, Anne. That was merely coincidental," he gestured dismissively. "With the King newly married, he is yet satisfied with his Queen…"

"And we know how long that shall last, don't we, Father?" Anne interjected with a roll of the eyes. Sir Thomas chuckled.

"However, he has sent away his latest mistress, and so the position remains unfilled," he finished. Anne stiffened, as she met her father's cold eyes and shivered. "The woman who seduces the King of England will bring untold wealth and position to her family-"

"No!" she shouted, outraged. "Father, I am not a common whore, to bartered away like some horse at market! Nor will I betray an old friend so!"

"Anne, you can and you will," Sir Thomas stood, his demeanour changing like the quicksilver of his eyes from jovial to threatening. "Your Uncle suggested this, and I support it wholeheartedly. The family can advance-"

"And so you would barter away my reputation, my prospects as you did Mary's with Francis?" Anne returned angrily, her fists clenched.

"With you in the King's bed, it won't matter. You can find Mary a husband and George a wife, and advance our position," Sir Thomas replied coldly. "You will do this, Anne. You will not defy me."

Anne glared at her father defiantly, chin raised haughtily as Sir Thomas eyed it. She would not do this! Jane had been a girlhood friend of hers, almost akin to a sister, and she would not follow the same path as Mary.

"Do you wish me to banish you back to France? Shall I send for Mary instead?" Sir Thomas suggested slyly, knowing how to provoke his daughter. Anne bristled.

Mary could not do this. Her reputation was destroyed enough as it was, and she had not the wits to hold the King's attention. She had failed with King Francis. She could grudgingly see why her father had sent for her instead. Jane's invitation had just been coincidental.

"If you become the mistress of the King of England," Sir Thomas continued, his voice lowered to a persuasive, cajoling tone, one he had used on Anne when he had been trying to teach her to ride many years before, in more innocent times. "You will possess untold power, second only to the Queen of England herself."

"Only for as long the King desires me," Anne retorted, weakening. Sir Thomas's threat against Mary had weakened her, and the thought of returning to France…

England was her home, her only home, and unfortunately she had yearned for it these past years, and Sir Thomas knew that all too well.

"You can do it, Anne," Sir Thomas told her, sure he had won. He knew Anne possessed a far more fiery temper than Mary, less tractable and submissive, but that was likely to stir the King's desire more than subdue it. Jane Seymour was too quiet and meek to ever hold his attention for long. "Your beauty has only grown in the years since you left for the French court. Your eyes could ensnare the Pope himself. They're like dark hooks for the soul, irresistible and enthralling. He will fall at your feet, if you can dangle him long enough."

Anne sighed, looking down at her hands clasped in front of her. "But Jane-"

"Put aside thoughts of the Queen, Anne!" Sir Thomas snapped furiously, losing his patience. "Your loyalty is to your family, not to the Seymours. You will do this, or I will send for Mary."

Anne sighed, and nodded once before sweeping out of the room, the door closing behind her with a sharp _click_.

* * *

The feasting to celebrate Queen Jane's coronation raged around the Palace of Whitehall, gaiety and laughter pouring from every corner of the palaces, the rooms lit by flaming tapers and Jane's standard decorating everything.

The good and the great of the Tudor court milled in bright satins and silks, gold and jewels decorating noble necks and fingers, but none more brightly than the King and Queen, sat on their thrones while they watched the dancing.

"Your Majesties," Edward Seymour presented himself, bowing low, furred robes and golden collar gleaming lustrously to match the soft waves of burnished brown on his head, and the proud glint in his eyes. Henry smiled and inclined his head, but Jane held out her hand to her brother, smiling warmly.

"Brother, how are you tonight?" she asked solicitously. "How is Anne?"

Edward's smile turned strained as he thought of his unfaithful wife, currently flirting with Sir Francis Bryan in some dark corner no doubt. "We are well," he replied curtly, bowing over his sister's hand. Jane grimaced.

"If you would only try to reconcile, Edward…" she began, before her eldest brother merely shook his head impatiently.

"Do not trouble yourself over such things, Sister," he cut her off, before his face softened ever so slightly. "Enjoy tonight, Your Majesty."

Jane smiled up at her powerful brother, and squeezed his hand before releasing him. Charles Brandon beckoned him over, and he left with another bow for the monarchs, walking towards the group of darkly clad men clustered around the Duke of Suffolk, all favourites of the King and rising stars at court. Including Edward.

"My lord Suffolk," Edward inclined his head with just a hint of arrogance at the slightly younger man, watching him with amused eyes. Charles Brandon was of the dissolute, forever charming type who was always amused.

"My lord Hertford," Brandon murmured in greeting. "How goes it with the Queen?"

"My sister is well," Edward replied, frowning slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"Rumours, my lord, just rumours," Brandon muttered lackadaisically, picking up his goblet of wine and taking a draught. "What reports from the Low Countries about this heretical Lutheran?"

Edward was just about to open his mouth and answer, when the voice of the herald stationed at the doors into the Hall rang out, and he froze as a name was called out that he had hoped never to hear again.

"Sir Thomas Boleyn and the Lady Anne Boleyn,"

A gentle murmuring broke out over the crowd as the music stopped, and the two interlopers in the court emerged from the glittering crowd.

* * *

Sir Thomas Boleyn was much the same as when Edward had last seen him, just after he was given the appointment of Ambassador to the French Court, but Anne…

She had changed much in the decades since last he had seen her. No longer a girl, she carried herself with all the poise of an empress, her long dark hair unbound and flowing down her back, slender but womanly curves shown to advantage in gold silk that flowed around her like a river, a small necklace of pearls shining on her olive skin. She was like a Spanish rose among the pale-skinned, golden-haired lilies of the English court, her eyes watching everything with an intelligence which pierced the soul.

He and Anne had never been friends, despite Jane's fondness for the girl as children. Since they began to grow into adults, they had been afflicted by a prickling tension, like lightening was crawling over their skins and they felt the urge to snap at one another if they were too close. They had barely spoken, and only then, to quarrel and to insult. When she and her sister Mary had left for France, he had not felt any deprivation at the loss.

But why was she here now? Why? There had been no rumours of the Boleyns falling out of favour with Francis, so why were they here? Why was she-?

He watched Anne and Thomas bow to the King and Queen, Henry's eyes lingering on Anne's dark hair and eyes, the ample bosom only just exposed by her gown. Edward's eyes widened.

No!

She would not undo all he had worked so hard to accomplish. She would not take Jane's place in Henry's affections. That could be the only reason for her return; with the departure of Lady Ursula Misseldon to her mother's house after displeasing the King, he was lacking a mistress.

And all knew that the position of mistress was second in power only to the Queen herself.

"Looks like the King has found himself a new pigeon to pluck," he overheard two young squires musing behind him. "She looks a treat."

"Look how she carries herself?! Regal as a Queen," muttered the other.

Edward ground his teeth. He would not let Anne Boleyn supplant his family's place at court. Jane would be no help, the poor simpleton! She was all too willing to welcome her girlhood friend back with open arms.

* * *

Anne rose from her curtsey, conscious of a burning gaze centred between her shoulders, one achingly different from the crowd behind her, and from the lustful eyes of the King before her.

"Your Majesty, it is so good to see you once more," she murmured respectfully to Jane. The younger woman was a far cry from the little golden-haired girl Anne remembered, more womanly and of course, beautiful but there was still an innocence there in her eyes, a childlike joy and ignorance of the world. Living at the French court had robbed Anne of any such innocence.

"I hope the crossing from France was not too arduous, Lady Anne?" Henry inquired courteously, eyes lingering on her face. Anne would have rolled her eyes had it not been the King and if her father had not been standing beside her.

She had to do this, for Mary.

The King's eyes were like greedy holes, sucking her in, as she replied wittily, making both Jane and Henry chuckle. With another graceful curtsey she was dismissed, and she felt Henry's gaze on her hips as she walked.

Before she faded into the crowd, she met the glowering eyes of a tall, burnished haired gentleman in long robes of black fur and a golden collar of state around his neck.

Edward Seymour, her old enemy.

Conjuring her best smirk, Anne curtseyed challengingly before turning to speak to one of the Queen's ladies, only smiling more as she realised she had not lost her ability to infuriate Edward Seymour without even speaking.

At least some good in all this bad. Seeing Jane had brought back all the laughter and the memories of their childhood spent together, and it hurt her to betray her thus.

But she had to do it, for Mary.

It was all for Mary.

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
